For Hire
by flowerpicture
Summary: Brendan hires a hooker.


This isn't the best hotel room he's ever stayed in, but it'll do. It's only for one night. The bed's suitable—big, sturdy, no annoying headboard to bang against the wall—and that's all that matters. Well that, and the guest he's sitting here waiting for.

The knock on the door comes at eight o'clock on the dot, right on time. Brendan's mildly impressed. He rubs his clammy palms on his thighs for an instant before he gets up and crosses to the door, takes a deep breath of composure before opening it.

It's not that he's nervous. It's the electric thrill of anticipation.

The man on the other side of the door couldn't be more ideal. Young, blond, golden skin and tight little body. He's stood there with half a smile on his face, looking confident as hell—and why wouldn't he? Brendan's paying specifically for his company this evening.

The sight of the man—the _boy_, really, mid-twenties at most—makes Brendan's cock twitch.

"Hiya," says the boy, smile widening to show teeth. "You Mr Brady?"

Brendan clears his throat and says, "Yeah," before stepping aside, gesturing for the boy to enter. He doesn't want to conduct this business out in the hall.

The boy steps through the door and saunters past him, brushes just a shade too close for anything casual. Brendan breathes him in, just a little. He can't detect any aftershave, and he likes that. Wants to smell the scent of skin and man, not chemicals.

He closes the door and turns, leans back against it, crosses his arms over his chest as he observes the boy.

"This is nice, innit?" He's looking around at the small, sparse room as if he's truly impressed. Brendan knows it's a front, all part of the act.

"If you say so." Brendan considers him, waits for the boy to direct his attention back on him. "What am I calling you?"

The boy smirks. "Whatever you wanna call—"

Brendan rolls his eyes and sighs.

"All right, huffy," says the boy—_huffehhh_, such a distinct edge to his accent. "My name's Ste."

"Ste." Brendan tries it out, doesn't particularly like it. "Steven?"

The boy shrugs. "If you like. Ain't fussy, me." He steps closer then, the hint of a grin quirking his lips. His voice drops, low and sultry. "Do I hafta keep calling you Mr Brady?" _Bradehh_. Brendan's quickly developing a thing for that accent.

He hesitates, looks the boy—Steven—up and down. He looks harmless enough; not likely to use personal information against him. Not that looks can't be deceiving. But Brendan has his instinct, and his instinct says this boy's safe. "It's Brendan."

"Brendan." He's smiling as he steps even closer, within touching distance and then closer still, looking up into Brendan's face. "Brendan Brady," he croons. "Sounds proper powerful, that."

"Just a name," Brendan says gruffly, uncrossing his arms as Steven lifts a hand, hooks his finger into the neck of the vest Brendan's wearing.

"Hmm," murmurs Steven, pressing his body in close, and he's about to say something else, mouth opening, but Brendan doesn't have a lot of patience for the preamble.

"Let's get on with it," he says, and he's touching the boy's waist, just lightly, can't seem to help the hint of contact.

Steven licks his bottom lip. "Got some terms to discuss first."

"Go on then," says Brendan, and Steven steps back suddenly, breaks contact. When he speaks, he's suddenly all business.

"Right, so these are the terms," he says briskly, looking Brendan in the eye without wavering. "It's two hundred for the hour, three hundred with penetration. Four to kiss on the mouth. No barebacking, binds or blindfolds. An extra fifty to leave marks. You pay upfront and you stop when I tell you to stop."

Brendan raises an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the detail of it. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," says Steven. "It's policy to inform you in advance that three different people know where I am right now."

"You're safe with me," Brendan says, doesn't really know why, just has the urge to assure the boy.

Steven smirks. "Can never be too careful," he says, and Brendan nods, he gets it. "Let me know when you're ready."

Brendan waits a beat or two, stares at the boy, before pushing away from the door and taking his wallet from his back pocket, pulls out a fold of notes. "Four hundred," he says, offering up the money. Steven's eyes are glittering as he takes it from him.

Four hundred, because of course he wants to fuck the boy properly, wouldn't bother with all of this otherwise. And he wants to kiss.

Steven makes quick work of counting the money, tongue caught between his teeth, before he nods and pockets it, straightens up and looks at Brendan. "It's your play," he says. "Tell me what you want."

Everything. Brendan wants it all. The first step, however, is easy to decide. "Take your clothes off," he says. "All of them." Then he resumes his previous position—leaning back against the door, arms crossed, watching.

Steven's not shy. He's done this a hundred—thousand—times before. Once he removes a condom and a mini tube of lube from his pocket and drops them on the bed, he doesn't show any hint of being shy or awkward as he strips out of his clothes, eyes on Brendan the entire time, a foreplay in itself.

Kicks his shoes off, then manages to toe off his socks without bending down and using his hands. Yanks his t-shirt off in one move, exposing his slim, golden build, narrow waist, lithe muscles, dusky nipples—the perfect body to bend and use. Saliva pools in Brendan's mouth and he swallows, shifts his feet.

There's a hint of a cheeky smirk on Steven's face before he pushes down his trousers and boxers, both in one swift move, pushes until they hit his ankles and then he steps out of them, kicks them aside. Then he stands straight, arms by his side, lets Brendan look his fill. His cock is semi hard already, and it twitches just slightly as Brendan looks at it, as if it can feel the heat of his gaze.

"Turn around," Brendan says, looking up into Steven's darkened eyes, "and bend over the bed."

There's a curious glint in Steven's eyes before he turns, as if he's not sure why Brendan's going straight for penetration when he's purchased a full hour, but that's not Brendan's plan at all. He's got plenty he wants to do before he sinks his dick into that perfect arse on display for him now as Steven does as he's told and bends over the bed, weight supported on his hands against the mattress.

Brendan approaches him, stops just behind him and waits, watches, until he sees it—the ghost of a shiver running up Steven's spine in his anticipation, goose bumps dusting his skin. Brendan smiles to himself and puts a hand on the small of Steven's back, runs it all the way up his spine to the nape of his neck.

Steven's sucked in a breath he's now holding and Brendan digs fingers in around the back of his neck, just slightly, enough to dent but not bruise. "You gonna do everything I say?" he asks, soft and crooning, playful.

Steven nods, stutters, "Y-yeah," and Brendan knows it's not that simple, of course there are catches and limits, but Steven doesn't look as if he's thinking of those right now.

"Good," Brendan says, then runs his hand back down Steven's spine. "Down on your elbows. Gonna open you up."

Steven does so—shifts his weight down so he's balanced on his elbows and forearms instead of his hands. The change in position puts his arse in the air, cheeks slightly parted already, enough for Brendan to dip a finger down and trace over his hole.

Steven lets out his breath, broken and stilted.

Brendan spends a few moments circling Steven's hole, rubbing it, teasing around the edge, watching the boy tense up in increments, the muscle of his hole twitching against the sensations Brendan's pushing into it.

"You don't have to prepare me," Steven says, voice a little strained, speaking to the mattress rather than over his shoulder at Brendan. "I can take it."

Brendan's sure he can, but he finds his own pleasure in this—touching this boy so intimately, working him up. He dips the tip of his finger past the resistance of muscle, making Steven hiss.

"You sound like a slut," he observes mildly, grabbing the lube off the bed with his free hand. He flicks off the cap quickly and drizzles a load of it over Steven's hole, his own finger pressed just inside. "You like getting fucked raw?"

Steven does look over his shoulder then, a challenging grin on his face. "Like getting fucked," he says, before hitching a breath and dropping his head again as Brendan shoves a lubed-up finger straight in, down to the knuckle, without hesitation.

Brendan hums placid agreement under his breath, twists his finger inside Steven's body, puts his other hand on Steven's hip to hold him steady. "How'd you like it?"

He slides his finger out, almost all the way, before shoving in again, the sloppy sound of lube warring with Steven's stuttered breathing.

"Hard," Steven says, leaning down a little more to press his forehead to the mattress, his shoulders dipping in the middle, creating a valley. "I like it hard. Rough."

"Good." Brendan works his finger in and out, quick and deep, loosening the hole as best he can now but not too much, because he's changed his mind, wants something different to his original plan. Doesn't want to stretch Steven on his fingers. "I'm gonna split you open on my cock," he says instead, and as he says it his cock pulses in his jeans, hardening and wanting. Wanting to bury deep in that tight heat, feel it stretch and burn around him.

He pulls his hands from Steven's body and immediately works his belt and buttons open. "Turn around," he says, pushing his jeans down around his thighs. "You're gonna suck my dick, get me hard for you." He fists his dick, gives it a few strokes. He's already hard, but he wants to feel Steven's throat swallow him down.

Steven turns, casts a quick glance to Brendan's cock—he's already red in the cheeks, and his eyes are dark, and his own cock is standing tall and stiff, ready for Brendan to make him come, if he feels inclined to.

"On your knees."

He goes down, and Brendan pushes a hand into his hair, tips his head back and pushes until Steven's back is flush against the base of the bed, his head pressed down on the mattress, a position that can't be comfortable but it opens his throat and mouth nicely for Brendan to go in with his cock and fuck his face dry.

He steps forward, looking down into Steven's lust-blown eyes, and feeds his dick past his plump lips, until he's resting on his fluttering, slick tongue. Then he leans over, braces himself with one hand on the mattress. "Relax for me," he says in the instant before he thrusts in, not too deep yet, enough to feel the hint of constriction at the opening of Steven's throat, wet heat smothering him.

Steven groans, vibrations coursing through Brendan's dick and making him squeeze his eyes shut. "Suck," he says, breathes almost, then puts his other hand on the bed, fists the sheets, and starts fucking Steven's mouth.

Steven does as instructed—closes his lips around Brendan's dick and sucks each time Brendan retreats, smooths his tongue all along the underside as Brendan thrusts in, and it doesn't take long for them to build a rhythm together, Brendan panting, Steven groaning into his skin, saliva pooling around his lips and soaking Brendan's dick, the hair at the base of him.

"Gonna go deeper," he says, feels the need to warn him, before snapping his hips forward and burying himself in Steven's throat, feeling his choke and gulp convulsively around the intrusion. He glances down to see Steven's eyes watering, his cheeks flushed, his lips strained around the size of his dick—but he looks turned on as fuck, high on lust, and he's looking up at Brendan like he's never had anything better in his mouth, like he wants to devour him.

Brendan gives it to him. Coughs out a moan and fucks him hard, in and out of his mouth in a bruising rhythm, shoving down into his throat on every third or fourth thrust. Steven grips his hips suddenly, nails digging in, and he uses his grip to pull Brendan down into his throat again and hold him there, his breath constricted, the muscles of his throat seizing around him and Brendan's lost, shot to hell on pleasure, shocks of ecstasy racing up his spine and down to his toes and his head's spinning as Steven releases him, heaving breaths through his nose and Brendan fucks in again, again, before pulling out suddenly and reaching down to grip his dick and smear his precome all over Steven's lips.

Then he shifts back hastily, drops down to his knees before Steven, doesn't give the boy time to catch his breath before he presses in with a kiss, sucks his own precome from Steven's lips and licks into his mouth and steals the air from him. Because he paid for this, an extra hundred for the privilege of kissing the boy and he doesn't disappoint, this boy, kisses him back like he wants to crawl inside Brendan's body and never leave.

Brendan lets it go on for a minute, doesn't want it to end, plunders Steven's mouth with his hands clamped on either side of Steven's face and takes the most intimate, deepest kiss from him. Not a hooker's kiss. A lover's kiss.

Then he breaks away, his cock throbbing, too insistent to ignore. Drags his thumb over Steven's swollen lips and stares into his heavy-lidded, heated eyes, before reaching out to snatch the condom from the bed and tear open the wrapper.

"You're gonna ride me," he says, his voice gruff, cracked, and Steven nods, tugs the condom from Brendan's hand and rolls it onto him suddenly, desperately, his hand shaking.

"C'mon," he says, pushing at Brendan's chest, making him shift back and to the side until his back is against the wall. And Brendan knows there's a perfectly good bed right there, not three feet away, but he doesn't want to take the time to get up and move to it. Here's fine, against this wall. Here's better than fine. And Steven agrees, judging by how quickly he shuffles forward on his knees and straddles Brendan's thighs, lifts up to line Brendan's cock up with his hole.

Then he catches Brendan's eye, stares deep into them, as he lowers himself down—barely any preparation other than the finger Brendan fucked him with earlier, the drizzle of lube, his own obvious desperation to get Brendan's dick inside him. His mouth his parted, breath puffing out to ghost across Brendan's lips, and Brendan stares at him in awe.

"You're such a whore, Steven," he says, breathless, bottoming out inside Steven, tight heat swallowing him up.

Steven has the wherewithal to grin, quick and filthy. "Don't pretend you don't like it, _Mr_ Brady."

Then he puts his hands on Brendan's shoulders, and Brendan puts his on Steven's hips, and then they're fucking, quick and rough and abrupt, like Steven wanted it—lifting up all the way to the head of Brendan's dick and shoving back down, both of them groaning, sweating, breaths punching out of Steven as he bounces on Brendan's lap just like a hooker earning his keep, like he's meant to do.

Brendan can't control himself, too worked up on pure lust and pleasure, snatching Steven's mouth in a violent kiss as Steven rocks on his lap, up high and thrusting down, quick and harsh, dragging an orgasm from the base of Brendan's spine, filling his whole body with heat and electric and bliss.

Steven breaks the kiss, presses his cheek to Brendan's, sweaty and hot, breath harsh against Brendan's ear. "Make me come," he begs, hips working harder, taking Brendan deeper. "I need to come."

Brendan has no inclination to deny him. Wraps a hand around Steven's dick and strokes it in time to Steven's movements, the harsh rhythm that has them both groaning and shivering and rocketing towards orgasm and suddenly Steven starts convulsing, his entire body jolting and shaking, and he's crying out, his movements speeding up, increasing, forcing Brendan to meet him at the edge, to make them come together.

Brendan can't help it—lets out a cry to match Steven's and bangs his head back against the wall, tugs furiously on Steven's dick as his orgasm washes through him, his legs and arms and stomach muscles tensing up in the instant before he comes, squeezing his eyes shut, breath held as Steven's spunk spills over his fist and splashes between them, both of them trembling and groaning and Brendan seeing stars behind his closed eyelids.

It takes them an age to come down from it, heaving breaths and still huffing out broken groans as the last of their shared orgasm rolls through them. Then they're silent for a long while, Steven slumped against him, breathing hard. Brendan can feel Steven's heartbeat rapid against his own chest.

Then Steven laughs suddenly and sits up, gives Brendan's chest a poke. "You coulda picked a nicer hotel," he says, grinning.

Brendan returns the smile, smooths a thumb over Steven's cheekbone. "Thought it added to the seedy illusion." He pulls Steven in for a quick kiss, sweeps his tongue in, before pulling back and asking, "What are you gonna spend that four hundred quid on?"

"Thought I might be boring and get that new washing machine we need," Steven says with a bit of a playful grimace. Brendan tutts, but Steven cuts him off with another kiss. "Happy birthday," he murmurs against Brendan's mouth, and Brendan tightens his arms around him and tugs him closer.

If this is what he gets for his birthday, he can't wait for Christmas.

::: :::

**For the anon fic request: **_**Brendan and Ste roleplaying as hooker/client**_**. I didn't know which one you wanted as the hooker, so I just went with the obvious. Hope you like it!**


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